Tom Wallace - Gnosis

No one sought love more than Isaac Whitehouse. Where better to get it than the pulpit?

Through Rachel, Eli kept up with Tommy’s career in the Marines. Rachel told him Tommy had been awarded many commendations, having served with distinction in the First Gulf War and in Afghanistan. He had been wounded once, but it wasn’t serious. Now a colonel, Tommy worked at the Pentagon, but would soon be shipping off again for another tour in Afghanistan. He was single, never having found a woman willing to accept his nomadic existence.

When Eli asked why Tommy had never once visited him, Rachel said it was because “it would break his heart to see you behind bars.”

Of course, Eli knew she wasn’t telling the truth. He knew it from the sorrow in her voice and the sadness in her eyes. He also knew why she was lying, and he loved her all the more for it. She was protecting both father and son.

No brother could ask for a better sister. No father could expect a better daughter.

Eli played along with Rachel even though he had long been aware of the real truth about Tommy, the sad, heart-breaking truth about his beloved son. Early on, various members of the congregation, while visiting Eli, would relay news of Tommy’s downward spiral. Later, it was Colt Rogers who delivered the ever-depressing stories of Tommy’s decline.

Tommy had been booted out of the Marines long ago and was now a full-fledged alcoholic. He was unable to hold a steady job for any substantial length of time, had never been married, and would likely be homeless were it not for the kindness of Rachel and Kirk Foster. He was a sad, lonely, broken soul.

Eli’s heart ached at the realization that Tommy, his special child, his golden boy, had fallen so deep into the depths of despair. Why it happened was no mystery. The murders, seeing his father sent to prison for life; therein lay the root cause for Tommy’s decline. But Tommy’s downfall wasn’t simply a matter of the son not being able to deal with the sins of his father. Or that his father was exiled to a prison cell for life. That was only part of the story, not all of it. The truth, Eli knew, was yet to be uncovered. And only when the truth is finally revealed will the world know why Tommy Whitehouse descended into his own private hell, taking with him all but a precious few fading memories of the beautiful child he had once been.

From the time he was very young, Tommy had been strangely aloof, indifferent to the judgment and opinions of others, emotionally shut off (by his own choice) from any part of the outside world that failed to interest or intrigue him. He did not suffer fools or boredom lightly. Those with special gifts rarely do. And yet, at any given moment, with the quicksilver flash of a smile and the twinkle in his eyes, he could draw you to him with the suddenness of a lightning strike. His was a magnetic personality.

“You are like the serpent in the Garden,” Eli once told him. “Wily, cunning, charismatic, and… maybe a little dangerous.”

Thoughts of Tommy only added more crushing weight to the guilt Eli felt for what had transpired. To see his talented, gifted son fall like beautiful Lucifer from God’s heaven inflicted upon Eli far more pain and hurt than the cancer inside him. It ripped at the very core of his soul.

He closed his eyes and prayed.

By two in the afternoon, Eli could feel his strength and energy levels begin to ebb. He still felt better than usual-just being out of the damn bed was enough to lift his spirits-but he could feel the fatigue begin to set in. In a couple more hours he would once again be a prisoner in his bed, too tired and too weak to move, a pitiful shell of the once-formidable man he had been.

Earlier in the day he had received a call from Rachel informing him that Colt Rogers had been murdered. He had acted surprised when Rachel broke the news, but in truth he wasn’t. There was no reason to be surprised. Colt Rogers operated in that shadowy world between right and wrong, living a dangerous existence while also consorting with men of questionable character. Eli had never harbored any illusions about Colt Rogers. Colt was a man constantly in search of trouble, and in Eli’s experience, men who seek trouble usually find it. That Colt met a violent death came as no shock to Eli.

Being a man of God, Eli felt duty bound to say a prayer for Colt. After all, even the worst sinners are deserving of a few kind words directed at the Almighty. If Jesus was magnanimous enough to grant the thief on the cross entrance into Paradise, then the least Eli could do was pray for Colt Rogers. But this particular prayer would not be a lengthy one. Only a few words followed by a quick Amen. He would not take up much of the Almighty’s time advocating for Colt Rogers, a man he had little use for.

Eli now understood that Colt’s death was the reason why Jack Dantzler requested a second meeting. When Dantzler phoned Warden Curtis late yesterday afternoon, he had offered no particular reason for the meeting, other than the usual “to tie up a few loose ends.” He didn’t mention Colt’s murder, or if he did, Warden Curtis kept the news to himself. Either way, it didn’t matter. Eli had granted Dantzler’s request. Truth be told, he liked Dantzler, and would enjoy visiting with him again.

Sitting in his chair, the warm sun shining through the window, Eli felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy. He fought sleep as long as he could, wanting to be awake and alert for his chat with Dantzler, but by two-thirty, with fatigue closing in faster than he expected, Eli nodded off.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he was startled awake by the door opening and the shuffling of footsteps in his room. Looking up, clearing the sleep from his eyes, he saw two men standing in front of him. A smile crossed his lips.

“Well, well, Charlie Bolton,” Eli said. “A ghost from my long-ago past. This is quite the surprise.”

“Eli.”

“It’s been a long time, old friend.”

“That it has.”

“Lie to me, Charlie. Tell me I’m looking good for a man my age.”

“You look better than I expected.”

“For someone with a terminal illness, right?”

“Right.”

“Are you enjoying your retirement? Your ‘golden years’, as they say?”

“My knees ache constantly, and I would like to catch more fish. But all things considered, I have no complaints.”

“Lucky you.” Eli nodded at Dantzler. “Detective Bolton, are you aware that your young partner is a Gnostic?”

“No kidding. What’s a Gnostic?”

“Someone with heretical beliefs.”

“Huh. And all this time I had him pegged as a Democrat.”

Dantzler stepped in front of Charlie, cutting short their private chit-chat. This was not the time for small talk. He wanted to ask his questions, get his answers, and leave as quickly as possible. The prison infirmary, like all hospitals, smelled of sickness and death. It was a smell-and an environment-that made him uneasy. The sooner he could get out, the better. He certainly didn’t want to stick around listening to these two gabbing about the past.

“You get the news concerning Colt Rogers?” he said.

“Rachel called this morning to inform me of what had transpired. A harsh way to meet your Maker.” Eli grinned. “Excuse me, Detective Dantzler. Your ‘Creator’.”

“Any thoughts on who might have pulled the trigger?”

“Well, I didn’t do it, that much we all know.”

Dantzler reached in his coat pocket, took out a small tape recorder, and held it in front of Eli. “I’m taping this conversation, Eli, whether you like it or not. I want accuracy.”

“So be it, Detective. I am too weary to argue with you. Turn it on and let’s get started.”